


The Skilled Manipulator's Guide To Indoctrination (And Other Stories)

by churb



Category: X-Ray & Vav (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Mad King Is A Shitty Individual, Gen, oh wait no that's just canon. never mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churb/pseuds/churb
Summary: Or; a canon divergent AU where Mogar stays with The Mad King for.... considerably longer.The results aren't great.





	1. [ i ]

**Author's Note:**

> LAYS DOWN.
> 
> i actually wrote this a good,,, year ago?? i just never submitted it here bc i'm a pussy
> 
> UH just. just enjoy it honestly. waves hand vaguely

He’s about a year into his stay, by now.

He’s not sure. Time seems to pass irregularly in this place. He sleeps on and off, and it’s hardly like he can measure it with meals. He’s taken to scratching lines on his wall, five vertical and then a diagonal across them, like tally marks. He does it under his bed, because he can’t predict the reaction if anyone (or particular people, at least) caught onto his specialist brand of vandalism.

There are a lot of scratches on his wall at this point.

And he’s sort of stuck in a constant state of emotional limbo, here, where on one hand, he doesn’t want to be around the guy, at all, but on the other he feels lost without him, like if he’s left alone he’ll be doing something he shouldn’t be doing, somehow, inexplicably guilty by existing. He’s left with nothing to do but trail after him, hanging onto his every word; the only alternative guaranteed not to risk angering him is just sitting in his bedroom quietly and listening to the phonics tapes he finds occasionally stacked on the floor but he’s listened to them so many times and they still don’t make much sense, honestly.

He knows words. He gets words. He doesn’t find it necessary.

This particular day finds him standing at the entrance to the room, awkwardly, hiding himself partially behind the doorway and looking in. It’s a pretty big room, he thinks, and it has a table in the centre that is, in his own mind, far bigger than it needs to be.

(He doesn’t know much about the Mad King. He doesn’t know much about the shady men working for him. Everything about the conversation they’re having is completely lost on him. )

(He’d like to put it down to inexperience rather than lack of intelligence.)  
  
He doesn’t know how long he’s stood there for, but eventually he’s noticed. The Mad King puts down his glass, for a moment, and he feels the other’s eyes practically boring into his soul for a moment before he speaks.

“Ah, Mogar. How nice of you to join us. Come, have a seat.”

He knows the general implication of that sentence, of course, and moves over to the table, declining taking the traditional route in favour of sitting himself on the floor. There are many spare chairs, of course, but he already knows from experience that he’s not considered, as an individual, equal enough to the rest of the metaphorical party that taking one would be acceptable behaviour.

He feels a hand in his hair, petting him with what he pretends is affection.

“Good boy.”

There’s something dropped in his lap; on closer inspection it appears to be a boiled sweet. It’s yellow, so he deems it safe enough to unwrap and eat. Different colours mean different things, he’s picked up that much, and he knows from personal experience that he’s only given the purple ones when he’s supposed to sleep for a sufficient length of time.

It’s still the first thing he’s been given to eat in a while, so he enjoys it while he can. The hand in his hair seems to be guiding him in the direction of leaning his head on the other’s knee, or at the very least the side of his leg, and he hates this, fuck, he _really_ hates this, but at this point he’s really too numb make any kind of conscious resistance, so he lets himself be moved wherever and tries to ignore the anxiety building up in his gut.

He tries to focus on the conversation instead, because maybe trying to understand it would be a good enough distraction.

“ _Anyway_. As I was saying." The hand in his hair starts gently petting. It's a little irritating, but Mogar wears it, for now. "All we can do for now is to wait, bide our time--” The tone seems to change, here, it’s more authoritative, “-- and see to it that the bovid is kept sufficiently sedated, if you will. We can execute Phase One at the appropriate time. For now, just ensure that nothing can or will be done to disrupt our efforts.”

Fat lot of good that was, Mogar thinks, somewhat bitterly. Hell. He's good with words, but he's not  _that_ good. (He only started learning this language a couple years ago. Give him a break.)

The other two look slightly uneasy.

“Uh. Should we really be having this conversation with him here?”

This piques Mogar’s interest; he straightens up a little, tenses, because why shouldn’t they be discussing this around him? The hand in his hair tenses ( _ow_ ) and he watches the Mad King for visual clues, but after about two seconds he relaxes, and the petting continues.

His words seem slightly forced, though.

“Of course. Nothing should be said that Mogar cannot hear.”

The wording is stilted and the feeling that something isn’t quite right intensifies. He brushes it off, for now, but he’s still listening, because he can’t not at this point.

The two exchange uneasy glances with each other. Mogar straightens up a little more, tries to read their facial expressions, but the hand in his hair tightens its’ grip, almost trying to push his head back down, and he relents because he doesn’t want a fight.

“There is no cause for concern, if that’s what is troubling you.”

Mogar’s not sure, but he thinks from the tone taken that the Mad King is glaring at the offender. The idea troubles him, although he’d suspected before that things were being kept from him- how could he not.

The Mad King lets out a breath, as if letting- whatever it was- go, and the tension in the room drops as if on command.

“Mogar,” he says, and Mogar comes to attention. Should he drop focus, it doesn’t end in a _reward._

“I will need you to wait outside a moment. When these two are done, I will need to speak to you privately.”

Mogar nods and obeys, and when the others exit, he re-enters.

“I have warned them of their petulance,” the Mad King says. “You of all people should know I don’t stand for it- oh, and use your words when talking to me, please.”

He doesn’t need to append _please,_ but he does it to sound overly polite.

“Yes,” Mogar growls.

“Good boy." And god, does Mogar hate _that_ , too,  _that_ especially. "Now, I believe I will need you in the lab.”

That, anyway, is the last thing he remembers.

=*=

The day hasn’t exactly gone typically, even by Vav’s standards.

He’d honestly been suspicious of the whole thing from the start, honestly. Call him cynical, secretly, underneath the usually chipper and sensible attitude and the classic British trait of over-exaggerated politeness that at times might have secretly been masking indifference. It was hard to tell, with Vav.

But yes, no, call him cynical but when he’d first seen the advertising campaign and the cute little cow mascot, his first thought was that it was somewhat suspicious.

He’s not sure if the fact that he was very much right is something that he should be comforted by or not.

He’s left sat on the floor, at this point, staring at the hole in the wall. XRay stands with him, equally bemused, and Vav alternates, slowly, between looking up and him and looking back at the wall, and then back at XRay, and then the wall again.

His partner, as usual, speaks first.

“Well. That was a cow.”

“It certainly was.” says Vav, and then he pauses, and he’s got more important things to focus on so he decides it’s probably a good idea to talk about those instead.

“You weren’t really going to fire that thing at me, were you?”

The hesitation had worried him. XRay pauses, as if he’s not entirely sure how to answer the question; Vav studies his face and tries to work out why. It seems more out of a lack of words than a lack of a truthful answer (or, at the least, one that wouldn’t hurt an obscene amount) and Vav lets it go.

“No.” says XRay, quietly. “Of course not. I just, uh.”

“Just what?”

“Well.” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s trying to process whether the last ten minutes actually happened. “I didn’t know if the button would actually set you free or not. You know the guy. He pulls shit like that.”

It’s a good answer. Even if XRay is lying, Vav thinks, he prefers to believe this version.

“...Are we… can we be friends now?” Vav gets to his feet as he says it, slowly, dusting himself off. He feels a tug on his arm and realises XRay is helping him up. There’s an odd sort of expression on his face; Vav can’t quite place it but it looks a little like there’s a lot that he wants to say but he’s restraining himself.

The answer he does get, eventually, is “...Yeah. Of course.” He looks down as he says it, for a moment, before looking back up; Vav meets his eyes, reaches over, and takes his hand.

They walk back through the maze of the (whatever fucking floor they’re on) floor in silence.

The room they come back to is reasonably spacious, mostly grey, furnished mostly with equally dull tables and mechanical equipment, paper and diagrams spread across the tables and occasionally on the floor, generally littering the space. Neither of them take much notice of that, though, because the first thing they see when they walk in is the generator.

As machinery goes, it’s… pretty huge. It’s a giant circular thing with about ten different lights (he thinks they’re lights?) dotted around the inside, and some cylinders randomly attached for reasons that aren’t, at first, entirely obvious. It appears to be a little bit busted.

The second thing they see is Hilda sat in front of it.

She’s sat down about two feet away; or more accurately, knelt. There’s a hand on her forehead, half in her hair. Her other hand is curled into a tight fist, resting on the floor. She’s shaking, but otherwise not moving.

There’s what appears to be a body propped up against her, head on her shoulder, and Vav registers it as a body because it is, quite literally, completely still, and it’s this that stops him in his tracks and renders him silent, for the moment.

And when he does talk it’s a “Bloody hell.” at around the same time XRay says “Oh, _shit_.”

This seems to push Hilda into action, at least. She stands, takes the body, quite effortlessly slinging it over her shoulder (and if the poor thing is still alive, Vav thinks, they’re going to have awful whiplash) and makes for what Vav assumes is the exit. Or, at least, the lift corridor.

But damn if he’s going to let her run off like that, especially with a body, jesus christ.

“Miss Hilda?”

She doesn’t even say anything. She just stops. Vav’s getting the slight impression that there’s something bothering her

“Um.” He’s not exactly the best at approaching people when they’re distressed, though. “Is. Are you… I mean.” No point asking if she’s alright. “Where did…. um. Where did he... come from.”

(Vav’s just going to assume they’re a he on this one. Either that or the poor thing’s been flashing everyone for the past ten minutes. He quickly dismisses this as not entirely relevant.) (In usual circumstances he’d make the joke out loud but something tells him that wouldn’t exactly be a good idea.)

Hilda’s still not looking at him. He feels like she’s trying not to. XRay has been watching, for the most part, in mute, horrified silence. Vav looks at him, for a moment, and then back to Hilda; she breathes in like she’s trying to collect herself, and then she speaks. It doesn’t quite sound like she’s answering him; it’s more like she’s talking to herself.

“It must be some kind of generator. I don’t know what it does.”

“Okay.” XRay volunteers, from behind him. “I mean. That doesn’t answer the question, but okay.”

Hilda doesn’t look like she’s entirely listening. She doesn’t look angry any more, either. If anything, now she’s just sad.

Vav takes a look behind him, stares at the machine for a moment, and scratches the back of his head.

“What would the Mad King even be doing with something like that?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice has gone quiet, now. Quieter than usual. Vav goes over and puts a hand on her shoulder because quite frankly the change of tone is a little disconcerting. XRay joins them, forgoing similar physical contact in favour of standing there silently. It’s slightly awkward. Vav decides that’s hardly relevant either.  
  
She’s keeping her gaze very firmly transfixed on the floor on front of her. “All just part of the plan, I guess.”

“Where did you even find him?” Hopefully, he thinks, rephrasing the question would get an actual, sensible answer.

Apparently so. “He was hooked up to the-- well, the generator.” She’s still quiet; her voice has more of a monotone edge than usual to it. “Pretty sure he was using him as some kind of battery.”

“In which case.” XRay volunteers, again, “He _probably_ needs some kind of medical attention.”

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” Fuck. Apparently, Hilda’s current state is somewhat that of an emotional time bomb. Not that he can blame her, considering the situation (specifically, he thinks, how utterly fucked up the very idea is) but either way, now she’s angry, again, and he’s not entirely surprised that it’s XRay setting her off. 

Or maybe that’s a little mean.

XRay continues, oblivious to this, apparently. “Then, you know, do something.”  
  
“Like what? I’m a _scientist_ , okay, I’m not a _fucking nurse_!”

“Whatever. It’s all sciency bullshit, isn't it? Basically the same thing.”

Hilda’s reaction to that is obviously not going to be a pretty one, he can tell, so Vav steps in, gently taking the body (can he really call it a body? He’s pretty sure they’re alive) from Hilda and draping it over his own shoulder. “Look, bickering isn’t going to help us, guys. We need to focus. There’s obviously a lot more going on around this than we thought.”

Miraculously, that mostly gets silence.

Hilda, now that she has a free arm, rests her forehead on her hands, and, after the moment of silence, speaks. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s. This is.” Her hand drops. “This is really fucked up, and I’m angry about it.”

“No _shit_ it’s fucked up!” XRay exclaims. “But we can deal with that later, the guy’s fuckin’ _dying_ over here!”

Vav ignores this exchange, mostly, in favour of paying a little more attention to the person he’s carrying. He can’t really get much of a look at their face, while they’re like this, and there’s no telling anything from their general appearance other than the fact they’re A. horrifyingly skinny, and B. have quite the (unique? he’s pretty sure the word is unique) taste in clothing. He reaches up and pats their back a little.

“Shh, buddy.” It’s quiet. “You’re going to be okay.”

XRay and Hilda seem to be done arguing, apparently; the latter takes off her glasses and cleans them on her shirt. It seems more habitual, then anything.

“I’ll take him back to the lab. We can, uh, take it from there. He definitely needs some kind of medical attention, you’re right-- I’ll see what I can do.”

“Or, I mean, we could go to an actual hospital.”

“We can’t take him to a hospital.” She’s gone back to sounding monotone, and quiet. There’s an underlying hint of tired to it now, as well. Not quite the usual sort of tired, this time, that Hilda takes on whenever she has to argue with XRay. A different kind of tired. More... drained. It makes Vav feel kind of bad for her.

“Unless you want to just, you know, sit there and watch them freak out and run even _more_ fucked up tests on him.”

Guy looks perfectly normal to Vav, he thinks, save for the odd taste in fashion. Maybe he just missed something. He can vaguely see XRay relent in the corner of his vision.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, point made.”

“He’ll be fine.” She sounds like she doesn’t quite believe herself. “We can just work with what we’ve got.” She starts walking again, then; the other two have no choice but to follow her. Vav keeps his vision mostly focused on the body in his arms rather than where he’s going.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’ll be fine.” And Vav gets the vague sense she’s repeating it to try and convince herself.

=*=

At some point, he wakes back up, and in the short time he is awake, he catches a few words.  
  
“--even be doing with--”  “I don’t know--” “--part of the plan, I guess--  “Where did you even find him--” “--to the generator--” “--some kind of battery--”  “-- _probably_ needs medical attention--”  “-- _scientist_ , okay, not a fucking _nurse_ \--” “Whatever, it’s a--” “--not going to help us, guys, we need to--” “--deal with that _later_ \--” “--fucking _dying_ over here--”

There’s a hand on his back. He vaguely feels it.  
  
“Shh, buddy, you’re gonna be okay--” 

“-- back to the lab, and we can--” “--could go to an actual hospital--” 

“-- sit there and watch as--” “--tests on him?” “Okay. Okay, yeah, point ma--”

“-- ‘s fine, we can just--”

“He’ll--”

And he doesn’t hear any more, after that.


	2. [ ii ]

When he does come back to himself, eventually, he sees a lot of white. It takes a while to adjust to; it’s bright, too bright, and he tries to raise an arm to cover his eyes in some attempt to block it out but moving comes with a degree of difficulty. He grits his teeth, forces his body to go along with it, but the most he can manage is propping himself up slightly and looking around the room.

Yeah. Sure is a hell of a lot of white.

The second thing he notices is that there’s something that appears to be stuck to his chest. Upon closer inspection (disregarding the apparent change of clothes, into what appears to be some kind of cloth buttoned affair) he decides it’s a tube; it runs up to his chest and then disappears, hidden under a square of some other kind of cloth that appears to be stuck on. There’s something similar going on with one of his hands, his right hand (he thinks) and there’s some sort of plastic clothespin stuck to one of his fingers. There’s another tube, there, leading up to some kind of screen. It’s beeping and displaying some sort of weird wavy pattern.

Mogar stares at it for a good ten seconds before deciding enough is enough and closing a hand around the tubes against his chest, giving them a slight tug--

_Ow._

Alright, bad move, but he really needs to get these things out, because their presence is starting to panic him, so he gives them another slight pull, and ow, okay, not a good idea, maybe he should just leave it for now. He discards the clothespin while he thinks on another strategy-- oh, hell, he should _not_ have done that, because now the machine is displaying a straight line and absolutely _screaming_ at him.

He’s not really aware of the existence of the word “fuck” but right now he feels it as a kind of base emotion.

He examines the tubes into his hands, next, and after tugging at those a little comes to the same conclusion that removing them is going to be somewhat painful, and his pain tolerance is really not what it used to be, so he takes a few minutes to breath deeply and calm himself in anticipation because getting out of here is not going to be easy or, it seems, painless.

He was really hoping he was rid of the whole pain thing but apparently not.

Still, no matter. Once he gets out of here he can continue his search, and at least  _now_ he knows _r_ _oughly_ where she is, somewhat, he knows the Mad King took her, he’s fully aware that he was lied to, god, he’s been so stupid, all this time--

Mogar grabs the tubes again and braces himself.

“Hey!”

Apparently not, because someone has quite literally shoved their hand over his and it’s surprising enough for him to relent a little.

“Don’t pull those out.”

Mogar’s mental response to this is somewhere along the lines of “don’t tell me what to do” but he decides saying that would go terribly and just sort of stares at the person instead.

Oh.

_Oh._

He… thinks he vaguely recognises whoever this is. Somewhat. He doesn’t know why, but there’s a distinct sense of familiarity here. It’s enough to make him move his hand away entirely, lean back against the back of the bed, and continue staring at her for a moment. (Her? He’s pretty sure she’s a woman. He hasn’t spent a lot of time around people, but he’s picked up enough to make the educated guess.)

Oh, hell, she’s been talking at him this entire time.

“-- and obviously we couldn’t really send you to an actual hospital, because--”

She cuts herself off.

“I mean, you know. This is working fine.”

Mogar continues staring at her and gets the general impression that she does not, in fact, believe it is. She looks back at him, there’s a few seconds of awkward eye contact, and then she sighs.

“Did you get any of that.”

This is a question he doesn’t want to say no to, because god only knows the repercussions, but she’ll probably want him to repeat it if he says yes so he prepares himself and shakes his head slightly.

And, surprisingly, she does absolutely nothing.

Well, not nothing as such, she does make another slight sighing noise and move her hand to the side of her face, for whatever reason, but apart from that she seems to let the matter go entirely.

“Okay. That’s fine. I guess I can’t blame you for being a little spacey. You want me to go over it again?”

He wants to ask over what, exactly, but he doesn’t and just continues staring at her instead. He silently decides she’s quite nice to look at and then immediately burns that thought and shoves it to the back of his mind.

She doesn’t seem to mind repeating herself, thankfully. “Okay, well, uh. My name’s Hilda, I don’t know if you got that the first time-- this is, uh. Kind of my lab.” A pause. “Well, I mean, I guess it technically is entirely my lab now.” She seems a little stunned at this sudden revelation, and pauses again to think it over. “Huh.”

There’s an awkward pause. This conversation doesn’t appear, he thinks, to be going anywhere useful.

She seems to regain her thoughts pretty quickly, thankfully. “Anyway, so, basically, we uh… well, kind of dealt with the whole Mad King deal, really, so whatever trouble you had with him is… sort of over now, I guess. I mean. Definitely. Don’t need to deal with that anymore.”

Mogar notes her apparent uncertainty and silently decides he is not comforted by it.

“Anyway-- anyway. So. I don’t really know what he was trying to do with you, exactly, save using you as a giant battery, but you’re not really in good shape so--” She has a facial expression like she feels guilty about it, fiddling anxiously with her hands and the hem of her sleeves, “You’re kind of staying here now. For a while.”

Mogar fidgets a little. There’s an awkward pause. Hilda looks like she wants to say something else, or at least, like she feels she _should_  say something else, but apparently thinks better of it and instead ends with a “So, uh, any questions about that?”

He doesn’t get time to openly respond to that; his previous focus on the fact that there are still multiple intimidating tubes attached to his body does seem to prompt an explanation from her.

“Oh. Oh, yeah, right, those. It’s, uh, the one in your chest is dextrous saline, and the one in your hand is basically just a bunch of vitamins and stuff. You know.”

He really doesn’t. Apparently she picks up on this.

“It’s, uh. Well.” She does this thing, when she pauses between sentences, of sort of flapping her hands around in weird, useless gestures, and he’s not sure how to feel about it.

“It might have been a side effect of, you know, being a battery, but my guess was that you… haven’t really eaten a lot, lately. Like, long term. And obviously we can’t really give you straight food because you’d just throw it back up, and--”

He does not have the time or the patience for this. He risks whatever consequences it may have and speaks, because damn it, he needs to know.

“Where is she.”

It’s the most he can manage, apparently, because by god his throat is sore, and he doesn’t really have the strength to put into longer sentences, so he decides that’s good enough for now.

It stuns Hilda into momentary silence.

“...Where’s… uh, who.”

He gives a little cough before replying. “Mother.”

There’s still the confusion in her face, she looks like she’s not entirely sure how to respond, so he clears his throat properly and tries again.

“Mad King… had her. He… kept her in the hole, a-all this time, and-- He. He was… harvesting her milk, as part of his plan--”

He trails off because Hilda’s face is an absolute picture and he feels this might be a good time to stop talking. She’s just staring at him, her mouth open slightly, and her face has gone a little red. It’s awkward. Maybe he needs to elaborate some more.

“She’s a cow.”

Hilda swallows a little. “As in, literally?”

He’s not sure what the opposite of literally is but running the possibility in his head makes no sense.

“Yes.”

“A... a literal actual cow?”

“Mogar is adopted.”

She actually seems… somehow contented with this information. He finds it a little odd but decides not to comment.

“Uh. Okay. Well. I personally didn’t see what happened to the-- your… mother, unfortunately, but-- I can bring in some of my friends later, and we could… talk about it? They’d probably… know, that was kind of more their area…”

He decides this is probably as good as he’s going to get, for now, though the idea of her bringing any of her “friends” in doesn’t exactly appeal to him. She seemed nice enough, so far, hardly threatening, which was a relief, but if previous experience had taught him anything it was to be wary of people.

Still, he can’t exactly object, so he just nods.

She keeping staring at him, for a moment, before her arms drop in an oddly resigned way. He studies her face for a moment; it’s either pity or he’s upset her somehow. He decides the former is probably a more feasible option and wonders why the thought irritates him as much as it does.

“I-- Alright.” She looks down, takes her glasses off, and wipes them on the collar of her shirt. “Okay. I’ll go and do that.” She’s speaking like her thoughts are somewhere else, she sounds strangely vacant. He wonders if it has anything to do with the pity. “Get some sleep. I mean. I don’t know how you feel, but I’m guessing it’s not exactly good.”

He knows her intent isn’t to patronise (or at least, he hopes) but he does wonder when she’s going to stop putting words in his mouth and/or feelings in his…. head? Fuck. That metaphor went south.

But again, he can’t object. He nods slightly in acknowledgement, just once or twice, and lays down. She pauses again, for a moment, like she’s not entirely sure what she’s doing, before reaching over and pulling his blanket up.

Huh. Okay then. She stands there for a little longer, as if she wants to do or say something else, before turning and walking away. He watches her for a moment, vaguely wondering why her movements seem so stilted. Maybe it’s just his presence in particular, part of the situation (which he assumes is not the type of general occurrence she’s used to) but she never quite seems like she knows where she’s going or what to do next. The concept of that is kind of- new, to Mogar, or at least slightly foreign. The Mad King had a plan and a place for everything. Not at all like this.

Mogar wonders exactly how that worked- or even works.

Still. It’s probably not worth worrying himself over too much. He doesn’t close his eyes, yet; he’s tired, but something in him doesn’t want to sleep, so he just lays there and spends a few minutes thinking things over. Occasionally, he looks back over at Hilda; by now, she’s across the other end of the room. Her face is buried in her hands. She’s not moving.

Eventually, though, she stands, clears her throat, and speaks. It’s quiet. She’s obviously trying not to wake him up, though how the hell he’s supposed to be asleep yet is beyond him.

“Orf?”

He’s not entirely sure what he’s seeing, but it looks vaguely like a little floating sphere gently rising from nowhere and floating gleefully about a foot away from her head.

“Mhm?” It’s a chipper automated voice and something about it immediately irritates him.

“Could you call XRay and Vav for me?”

“Okay! Dialling XRay and Vav Rescue Hotline!”

He vaguely hears a “You don’t have to call it that every time--” mumbled quietly under the obnoxious noises the sphere seems to be making. “Beep beep! Beep beep!” Damn thing is... literally  _saying_ it, as phonetic words, and Mogar buries his head in a little in an attempt to block the noise out, because  _god_ , is it  _annoying._

What he doesn’t expect is for the "beep"s to suddenly cut off, and an entirely different voice to come out.

“XRay and Vav Rescue Hotline! Vav speaking, how can I help you?”

He hears a faint sigh, and then “Vav, uh--”

“Miss Hilda!” The other voice cuts her right off. “How’s everything going down there? Did you find anything out? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” She takes her glasses off, for a moment, and rubs her eyes, moves her hand to the bridge of her nose, the part that her glasses usually rest on, and keeps it there, for a moment. “His name’s Mogar, apparently-- listen, I’m going to need you and XRay to come down to the lab. I need information from you, firstly, and--”

She breaks off.

“Hopefully you guys might be able to get him to open up a little more.”

“Um… sure, no problem.” The voice sounds uncertain. “Listen, um. Is he… alright, and everything? I mean you can forgive the kid for being a bit.. spacey, or whatever--”

“It’s not even that.” It sounds like another sigh. “I don’t even know what to say to him. I’m not good at this kind of thing, okay? I don’t do people. I-- As I did try and tell XRay, you know, I’m not exactly a medical professional--”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine. We’ll come over.” There’s more of a reassuring undertone to it, now, and he can hear vague conversation in the background.

“XRay!”

And, fainter, “Uh, yeah, sure, what.”

“Put that _down._ We need to go to the lab. Miss Hilda said--”

“Seriously? Now? I’m, like, two seconds away from Play of The Game--”

“XRay.” There’s a slight element of disgruntled to it. “It’s the guy she found hooked up to the generator. He’s awake. We need to go and talk to him.”

“Ugh, _fine._ ” There’s a scuffling sound. “Why can’t Hilda talk to him?”

“Hilda doesn’t talk to people, XRay. She said it herself, she’s not very good at it.”

Hilda’s been similarly immobile all this time, face still half buried in the hand (vaguely) on her forehead, but now she speaks. “We’re still connected, Vav.”

There’s a momentary pause, and then a “Oh. Um. Sorry. We’ll. We’ll be right there.” There’s a blip sound, and then silence.

“Call ended,” says the sphere, cheerfully. “They hung up!”

“Eventually.” Hilda takes this opportunity to put her glasses back on. “Alright. Thanks, buddy. Let’s give him some space, okay?”

There’s an overly chipper “Okay!” and they leave.

Mogar watches them go, silently, and after they leave he stares at the exit for a few minutes, before rolling over and cuddling into the pillows a little. It’s a comfortable bed. It’s certainly a lot more comfortable than the one in his usual room. Everything in this place is bright white and smells sterile, artificially lemon scented with an underlying hint of alcohol, but it feels oddly secure, for some reason. Oddly safe.

He falls asleep surprisingly quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> rolls over some
> 
> i should probably watch this show again lmao. it's been,,, too long,,


End file.
